Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White — Volume 2

by Andrew Dickson White

But an early experience in Rome showed a less beautiful manifestation of Christian zeal. We were a band of students, six in number, who had just closed a year of study at the University of Berlin; and the youngest, whom I will call Jack Smith, was a bright young fellow, son of a wealthy New England manufacturer. The evening after arriving in Rome, Jack, calling on an American aunt, was introduced to a priest who happened to be making her a visit. It was instantly evident that the priest, Father Cataldi, knew what Jack's worldly prospects were; for from the first he was excessively polite to the youth, and when the latter remarked that during his stay in Rome he would like to take Italian lessons, the priest volunteered to send him a teacher. Next day, at the appointed hour, the teacher appeared, and in the person of the priest himself. Thenceforward he stuck to the young American like a brother, kept him away from the rest of us as much as possible, and served not only as his teacher, but as his cicerone.

Among various dignitaries to whom he presented the young American was his Eminence Cardinal Tosti; and when the cardinal extended his hand to be kissed, Jack grasped and cordially shook it. The two clerical gentlemen were evidently disconcerted; but the priest said to the cardinal, in an undertone, "e un principe Americano," whereupon the cardinal seemed relieved and shook hands heartily.

One day, when the priest was not with our companion, we all visited one of the basilicas, where some great function was going on, and, though we found a crowd at the doors, obtained a sight of the high altar,—and there, in magnificent attire, in the midst of the great prelates, was a person who bore a most striking resemblance to Jack's clerical guide. We were all struck by this curious coincidence, but concluded that in the distance and through the clouds of incense we had simply seen a chance resemblance, and in the multitude of matters we soon forgot it. A month afterward, as we were leaving Rome, Jack asked his new friend for his bill, whereupon the priest drew himself up with a superb gesture and, presenting his card, said: "You evidently do not know who I am." The card bore the inscription, "Monsignor Cataldi, Master of the Papal Ceremonies." The young American was quite confounded, but listened submissively while this dignitary expressed the hope that they might yet meet within the pale of that church which alone could give a claim to salvation.

The condition of Rome at that period was not such as to induce much respect for priestly government. Anything more dirty, slipshod, and wretched could hardly be imagined. No railways had yet been allowed; the Vatican monsignori feeling by instinct the truth stated by Buckle, that railways promote the coming in of new ideas. Nor did the moral condition of the people seem to be any better.

Any one who visits Rome to-day, with the army of monks swept out of the place, with streets well cleaned, with the excavations scientifically conducted, with a government which, whatever its faults, is at any rate patriotic, finds it difficult to imagine the vileness of the city under the old regime.

But, bad as was Rome, Naples was worse. The wretched Bourbon then on the throne, "King Bomba," was the worst of his kind. Our minister of that period, Mr. Robert Dale Owen, gave me some accounts of the condition of things. He told me, as a matter of fact, that any young man showing earnest purpose of any sort was immediately suspected and discouraged, while worthless young debauchees were regarded as harmless, and therefore favored.

The most cherished counselor of the King was Apuzzo, Archbishop of Sorrento. In addition to what I have already said of Leopardi's political catechism, which the archbishop forced upon the people, I may note that this work took great pains to show that no education was needed save just enough to enable each man to accomplish his duties within the little sphere in which he was born, and that for the great body of the people education was a curse rather than a blessing. The result of this policy was evident: the number of persons unable to read or write, which was from forty to fifty per cent. in Piedmont, was from sixty to sixty-five per cent. in Rome, from eighty to eighty-five per cent. in the Papal States, and above eighty-five per cent. in Naples and Sicily.[38]

[38] See maps in Vol. II, of "L'Italis Economica nel 1873" (Roma, Tipografia Barbera, 1873). This work was the result of official surveys and most careful studies made by leading economists and statisticians. For a copy of it I am indebted to Mr. H. N. Gay, Fellow of Harvard University.

I also had the advantage of being present at the great religious function of Naples—the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius, patron of the city. It was in the gorgeous chapel of the saint which forms part of the Cathedral of Naples, and the place was filled with devout worshipers of every class, from the officials in court dress, representing the Bourbon king, down to the lowest lazzaroni. The reliquary of silver gilt, shaped like a large human head, and supposed to contain the skull of the saint, was first placed upon the altar; next, two vials, containing a dark substance said to be his blood, were also placed upon the altar, near the head. As the priests said prayers, they turned the vials from time to time; and, the liquefaction being somewhat delayed, the great crowd of people burst out into more and more impassioned expostulations and petitions to the saint. Just in front of the altar were the lazzaroni who claimed to be descendants of the saint's family, and these were especially importunate: at such times they beg, they scold, they even threaten; they have been known to abuse the saint roundly, and to tell him that, if he does not care to show his favor to the city by liquefying his blood, St. Cosmo and St. Damian are just as good saints as he, and will, no doubt, be very glad to have the city devote itself to them. At last, as we were beginning to be impatient, the priest, turning the vials suddenly, announced that the saint had performed the miracle, and instantly priests, people, choir, and organ burst forth into a great "Te Deum"; bells rang and cannon roared; a procession was formed, and the shrine containing the saint's relics was carried through the streets, the people prostrating themselves on both sides of the way and showering rose-leaves upon the shrine and upon the path before it. The contents of these precious vials are an interesting relic indeed, for they represent to us vividly that period when men who were willing to go to the stake for their religious opinions thought it not wrong to "save souls" by pious mendacity and consecrated fraud. To the scientific eye this miracle is very simple: the vials contain, no doubt, one of those waxy mixtures fusing at low temperature, which, while kept in its place within the cold stone walls of the church, remains solid, but which, upon being brought out into the hot, crowded chapel and fondled by the warm hands of the priests, gradually softens and becomes liquid. It was curious to note, at the time above mentioned, that even the high functionaries representing the King looked at the miracle with awe: they evidently found "joy in believing," and one of them assured me that the only thing which COULD cause it was the direct exercise of miraculous power.

So, too, I had here an opportunity to study one of the fundamental ideas of the prevalent theology—namely, the doctrine of "intercession," which has played such a part not only in Catholic but in Protestant countries,—the idea that, just as in an earthly court back-stairs influence is necessary to secure favor, so it must be in the heavenly courts. I was much edified by the way in which this doctrine was presented in certain great pictures representing the intervention of the Almighty to save Naples from the plague. One of them, as I remember it, represented, on an enormous canvas, the whole transaction as follows: In the immediate foreground the people of Naples were represented on their knees before their magistrates, begging them to rescue the city from the pestilence; farther back the magistrates were represented as on their knees before the monks, begging for their prayers; the monks were on their knees before St. Januarius, begging him to intervene; St. Januarius was then represented as on his knees before the Blessed Virgin; the Blessed Virgin was then pictured as beseeching her divine Son; and he at last was represented as presenting the petition to a triangle in the heavens behind which appeared the lineaments of a venerable face.